The Federals were moving with rapid gait to this strategic point, but Lee having the inner line, was first on the field.  It must be borne in mind that since the 4th of May the army had been idle scarcely a day.  From that day to the 1st of June it had been one continual battle.  If the infantry was not engaged, it was the artillery that kept hammering away, while Stuart’s Cavalry hovered around the flanks and rear of the enemy, ready at a moment to swoop like an eagle upon his prey.  We were continually under arms, either on a forced march night and day, checking the enemy here, baffling him there, driving back his advance lines, or assaulting his skirmishers.  At night the sound of the enemy’s drums mingled with that of our own, while the crack of the rifles in the sharpshooters’ pits was almost continuous.  Early on the morning of June 1st Kershaw’s Brigade was aroused and put on the march at a rapid pace in a southeasterly direction.

When nearing the old battlefield of Cold Harbor the men began to snuff the scent of battle.  Cartridge boxes were examined, guns unslung, and bayonets fixed, while the ranks were being rapidly closed up.  After some delay and confusion, a line of battle was formed along an old roadway.  Colonel Keitt had never before handled such a body of troops in the open field, and his pressing orders to find the enemy only added perplexity to his other difficulties.  Every man in ranks knew that he was being led by one of the most gifted and gallant men in the South, but every old soldier felt and saw at a glance his inexperience and want of self-control.  Colonel Keitt showed no want of aggressiveness and boldness, but he was preparing for battle like in the days of Alva or Turenne, and to cut his way through like a storm center.

As soon as the line was formed the order of advance was given, with never so much as a skirmish line in front.  Keitt led his men like a knight of old—­mounted upon his superb iron-gray, and looked the embodiment of the true chevalier that he was.  Never before in our experience had the brigade been led in deliberate battle by its commander on horseback, and it was perhaps Colonel Keitt’s want of experience that induced him to take this fatal step.  Across a large old field the brigade swept towards a densely timbered piece of oakland, studded with undergrowth, crowding and swaying in irregular lines, the enemy’s skirmishers pounding away at us as we advanced.  Colonel Keitt was a fine target for the sharpshooters, and fell before the troops reached the timber, a martyr to the inexorable laws of the army rank.  Into the dark recesses of the woods the troops plunged, creeping and crowding their way through the tangled mass of undergrowth, groups seeking shelter behind the larger trees, while the firing was going on from both sides.  The enemy meeting our advance in a solid regular column, our broken and disorganized ranks could not cope with them.  Some of the regimental officers seeing the disadvantage at which our troops were fighting, ordered a withdrawal to the old roadway in our rear.  The dense smoke settling in the woods, shielded our retreat and we returned to our starting point without further molestation than the whizzing of the enemy’s bullets overhead.  The lines were reformed, and Colonel Davis, of the Fifteenth, assumed command (or perhaps Colonel Henagan).